Pepper's View
by Connect5
Summary: Pepper's View retells the story of the first Ironman movie in Pepper's first person voice. We live inside her head more than the movies allow. The events roughly follow those of the film. Without a script in hand, the dialogue is not exact and purists will notice discrepancies in the exact chain of events. I have created scenes to tell the story from Pepper's perspective.
1. Chapter 1

"Ms. Potts?"

"Yes, Jarvis."

"The dry cleaning is ready," Jarvis intoned in his exaggerated British butler's diction. I detected, as usual, a hint of amusement in his measured voice. How on earth did Tony manage to program a sense of humor into a robot's voice, I marveled, not for the first time.

"Thank you, Jarvis."

The phrase "the dry cleaning is ready" had become code for "The young woman currently occupying Tony's quarters is awake and it is time to escort her from the premises."

I sighed, rose from my desk, and walked to the service entrance to gather up whatever outfit had captured Mr. Stark's attention the evening before. As usual, the dry cleaning bag didn't weigh much. Very little fabric in there.

One of the reasons Tony values my services is my ability to maintain a professional demeanor in all situations, including providing hospitality to his overnight guests. And professional I remain in most instances.

But something about this particular woman rankled me.

Perhaps it was seeing her attempt to enter a portion of the house to which she had no access that set me off? No, that wasn't it exactly. Was it the possessive tone she adopted when she spoke to me? No, they all felt smug the morning after, until a few days later when they had not heard back from Tony and realized that a phone call or even a text was highly unlikely.

I knew this one, the Vanity Fair reporter. I had read, even admired her articles on occasion. Standing in front of me, light-headed from less than 3 hours of sleep and God only knows what else, Christine Everhart looked as pretty as her pictures. Not all of Tony's bimbos were beauty school drop-outs, and this one certainly housed some brains under her tousled blonde bed head.

"Oh, so you must be the famous Pepper Potts," she said cattily.

"That's right," I smiled. I handed the package to her. "Your clothes have been dry-cleaned and there is a driver waiting to take you wherever you would like to go."

"So you've worked for Tony all these years? And he still has you doing the laundry?" she asked. Rhetorically.

I decided to answer her anyway.

"I do anything and everything Tony asks of me," I replied coolly. Then I leveled my clear blue eyes at her in an effort to incorporate a little cattiness of my own. "And sometimes, at his request, I even take out the garbage."

She scowled at me in surprise, then clutched her garments and retreated hastily to the master suite.

Like I said, I'm used to the smugness. It's only temporary. Normally it doesn't bother me. But this time something in me snapped, penetrating my professional veneer. Maybe it was the combination of her looks, fame, and brains. Eventually, the law of large numbers says Tony is bound to fall for one of these women. He can't stay aloof forever.

I take Tony's steady stream of women in stride. I know my boss and his habits. He is frank with me; I even tease him about his bon vivant playboy lifestyle. So although I did not articulate it to myself at the time and I haven't told a soul since, just between you and me … I was jealous! I was thoroughly jealous of that young, brainy, blonde Vanity Fair reporter.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The next few days did not allow me much time to examine my internal jealousies. Events hummed along at their usual hectic pace, even before the life-changing phone call that arrived later in the week. Tony always seemed to leave the country at the worst possible time. Throughout the day clients, investors, politicians, lobbyists, the Pentagon, and even blonde magazine reporters, all contacted me with questions and concerns that only Tony could handle. I did my best to keep them at bay, knowing that the time zone difference would make communication with Mr. Stark difficult. He had boarded his private jet to Afghanistan hours before Miss Everhart's morning cab pulled away.

Tony liked to be on location for the unveiling of each advancement in Stark weapons technology. Ever since Saturday Night Live aired those post-9/11 skits with Bin Laden and his henchmen watching old VHS movies of Harry Potter in some deep underground cave, bunker busting had become the holy grail of weapons manufacturing. Stark Industries' bombs could dig deeper into the earth's crust than anything else on the planet, and the US brass in Afghanistan regularly invited him over to motivate the troops with an on-site fireworks show.

I had never accompanied him to the war-torn country; Tony would not allow me to travel to hot regions. Never had. We joked that the three of us - Tony, Obadiah and myself - could never travel on the same plane together. Like the President of the United States, his V.P., and the Speaker of the House, what would become of Stark Industries if all three of us perished? Although my title of personal assistant may not sound particularly important, we all knew that Tony could scarcely find the keys to any one of his cars without my help.

Tony remained in contact via intermittent email for the first 24 hours after he landed , but he warned me that once his convoy entered the mountain pass he would be incommunicado for a significant chunk of time.

_Potts: Tony, I need an answer for Senator Stern ASAP. He has been hassling me all week about the Jericho project._

_Stark: Can you explain intellectual property rights to him? Again._

_Potts: Tony, he's threatening to subpoena you for information._

_Stark: He'll never understand my Jericho tech anyway. I can't dumb it down enough._

_Potts: Is that the best you have for me?_

_Stark: Yup. And enjoy it babe, once we get into the mountains I'm out of touch._

Upon reading this final message I had no idea how true his words would prove to be.

* * *

Happy Hogan, Stark Industries' driver, sat on the terrace across from me, drinking fresh coffee and discussing the week's plans. We dragged our meeting on a little longer than necessary in an effort to savor a few more minutes of the bright Southern California sunshine as it sparkled off the vast Pacific Ocean below.

I was disappointed to miss a call from Tony overnight. I noted that he hadn't left a message which, for a man who enjoys the sound of his own voice as much as Tony, was out of character. He also had not replied to the text I followed up with in the morning:

_Potts: Calling me in the middle of the night, Stark. Did you get tripped up on the time zone math_?

When my cell phone interrupted our meeting, I was surprised to see James Rhodes' face on the screen. He had flown with Tony to the Jericho demonstration in Afghanistan, it was not routine for him to call from over there.

"Pepper? It's Rhodie." His familiar voice was muted by the miles.

I sensed trouble in the way he said my name. I felt my limbs turn to lead before I could even answer.

"Pepper, there's been an ambush. Our Humvees were attacked on the way back to the military base. Pepper ..." he paused.

Happy glanced over at me intently.

"What happened?" I caught Happy's eye. "What happened?"

"It's Tony. He ... he has disappeared. We are nearly certain he has been captured by Taliban sympathizers."

I must have gasped. Then I couldn't see, the sunshine seemed too bright, blinding. Tony ...disappeared ... captured ... we are nearly certain. The words replayed in my head as I struggled to make sense of their meaning.

I took several deep breaths.

"Pepper, are you still there?"

Information. I needed information. "What do we know for certain? What do you know, James?"

I willed my mind and body to remain calm as Rhodes spoke. Now more than ever, I needed to think clearly. Tony needed me to think clearly.

James Rhodes explained how the ambush took place. Tony had ridden in a different vehicle with some other soldiers, and their platoon took the brunt of the attack.

When Rhodes and his troops arrived on the bloody scene they found bodies and burned vehicles. Some lay wounded, others killed by either explosions or gunfire. But no trace of Tony Stark. For that reason, the military suspected that he was now a prisoner of war. And a highly valuable prisoner indeed.

Happy's gaze followed my shaking hand as it placed the phone back on the table. Before the shock and terror could overwhelm me, I explained what had happened. His knuckles grew white on the coffee mug as he listened, and his jaw line hardened. His face went from anger to determination to helplessness.

And then to concern, for me I suppose. By this time my lower lip was trembling uncontrollably along with my hands. I felt all the muscles in my body start to quake.

"I ... need to get busy. Need to get busy, make some calls." I stood up shakily.

"Excuse me," I managed to whisper and slipped inside as Happy called after me. It was imperative that Pepper Potts remain calm and strong in the face of this challenge, at least publicly.

With stars and blackness swimming in front of my eyes, I somehow found my office, locked the door behind me, and collapsed into the chair, my head in my hands.

No telling how long I remained that way. I was aware of moisture seeping between my fingers, evidence of tears. In private, I let some of the emotion out. Tony in the hands of the Taliban ... dear God. What was happening to him this instant? Was he ... Was he even alive?


	3. Chapter 3

Al Jazeera aired the video first, but CNN and Fox got their hands on it within minutes. Obadiah Stane viewed the footage before anyone else from Stark Industries, having reported that one of his connections at CNN emailed him directly. He had been in New York meeting with investors since the first of the week, but boarded a plane to LA immediately after hearing the news.

Thus, Happy and I got our first glimpse of Tony on prime-time CNN, right along with the rest of the western world. The terrorists arranged him in a classic Middle Eastern prisoner pose, kneeling and powerless, surrounded by his heavily armed and unkempt captors. They even left a few flecks of blood on his face, no doubt for theatrical effect. He did appear injured to some degree, but ultimately alive!

Oddly, in one hand he held a metal box with a number of protruding wires.

Once I had taken in the whole scene with its ostentatious display of automatic weaponry and ammunition, my eyes lasered in on Tony's face. Ahhh, just to see that face again . . . I felt a jolt inside. What did his expression reveal? The Tony Stark signature cockiness had evaporated. He looked a little scared, but not terrified. Alongside the fear, a quiet resolve emanated.

I latched on to that resolve, aiming to draw some strength of my own. Happy and I shared a glance. With proof that Tony was alive, or at least had been when the video was shot, we could begin to hope.

"Why on earth is he holding a car battery?" mused Happy out loud.

"Is that what the box is?" I asked. The clip had finished and now CNN's "experts" were debating the possible terms of Tony's release.

"It sure looks like an old DieHard to me, and I've been around cars my whole life."

"With our man Tony, there is no telling what he is making that car battery do," I said, and we both grinned. It felt okay to smile in the midst of this disaster, in fact it felt pretty good.

We had many hoops to jump through before we could bring Tony back from the other side of the globe, but one hurdle had been cleared. Mr. Stark appeared to be alive.

* * *

"Pepper! Pepper!" Tony screamed over and over. "Pepper!"

His cries echoed up to me from under water. I rushed towards the sound of his voice. I could see his face below me contorted in terror, desperate for me to come and save him. I reached into the cold water, yet he floated just beyond my grasp.

"Tony, I'll help you! Don't go away. Stay with me! "

Despite my frantic efforts, his face retreated deeper into the water and his screams became weaker and weaker. I was losing him.

Even as I slowly realized it was all a nightmare, I was unable to rouse myself and banish the desperate images.

By day I presented a strong facade to the world, but when it came time to sleep my fears prevailed. I don't know which was worse, the conscious thoughts or nightmares. In the throes of advancing sleep deprivation, my dreams took on a convoluted, sinuous quality, as if they had been hand-painted by Salvador Dali himself.

For several consecutive nights Tony's captors came into my bedroom to negotiate with me. Sometimes they brought a beaten and broken Tony along, and he raised his head to fix his dark eyes on me in a silent plea for help. Those nights terrified me the most; with the scenes taking place in my own home I could not readily differentiate between reality and subconscious.

After that I took to spending most nights in the unofficial Pepper Potts suite at Tony's house. Before his capture, I had never stayed there as often as he liked, but now the surrounding home and security systems soothed me enough to ward off the worst of the nighttime terrors.

Obadiah Stane and I held frequent powwows, pondering the purpose of Tony's captivity. With his boss absent, Stane became the acting CEO, a role that he increasingly relished. Before I joined Stark Industries, Obadiah held that same position during the time period between Howard Stark's death and Tony's coming of age. Some whispered that Obadiah had not taken the transition well, and I worried that he would struggle once again when ... and if... Tony returned.

"Just like all terrorism, they are trying to frighten us, to demoralize us," Obadiah maintained. "Tony is a beloved, high profile American. Because of him, the Taliban now has the attention of an entire nation."

"I'm not so sure," I disagreed. "What does Tony have that these people need? Money and weapons. I'm surprised we haven't been contacted for some sort of ransom."

"Don't hold your breath, Pepper," Obadiah cautioned. "If those warlords wanted a ransom, we surely would have heard by now. They're more interested in power and posturing. You can't apply your logic to their way of thinking."

It did not make sense. Tony's nimble mind had developed the leading military technology of our era; what warring faction would not want to coerce him into handing over his secrets? Technology stolen from Tony could literally tip the balance of power in the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. It continued to mystify me that Stark Industries had not been contacted by his captors.

Since his elevation to CEO I had fallen into the role of Obadiah's de facto personal assistant. If nothing else, Obadiah made me understand how much Tony, for all his swagger, truly valued and relied on my opinion. While Mr. Stane and I enjoyed a pleasant relationship, he saw me as more of an underling than a confidant. Regardless, I admired Obadiah's knack for operational management and was grateful that he kept Stark moving along during Tony's absence.

So we waited, in agonizing silence.


	4. Chapter 4

The weeks wore on. The initial flurry of activity in the wake of Tony's capture gave way to excruciating silence. On the good nights I lay awake wondering exactly when this personal assistant position had become so much more than a job. What kept me here, bypassing opportunity after opportunity? Why was I content to spend so many hours down in the lab with my boss as he tinkered and brainstormed and refined? And why in God's name did I miss Tony so much, miss our morning coffee, our planning sessions, our late night brainstorming dinners? These were questions I was unprepared to answer.

Memories flash-flooded my mind, comforting me and taunting me simultaneously.

* * *

"Pepper, I've been meaning to ask you, how do you like your new nickname?"

"My nickname?" Tony and I sat elbow to elbow. He tinkered with different settings on a proprietary missile guidance system, reading data to me so that I could enter it into his computer. As usual, his question came from the left field section of his brain.

"Not that anyone gets to choose their nickname," he smirked, adjusting the weight of a flight stabilizer.

"Well, Pepper suits me just fine. My nickname reminds me of when I got this job, pepper-spraying myself into your office."

He chuckled softly to himself, looking over at me out of the corner of his eye. "That old story, you actually believed that?"

"That's the story you told me," I replied defensively, feeling a little stupid. "Why wouldn't I believe you?" He kept smiling, leaving me out of the joke. I was learning that Tony loved to keep people off balance.

"I'm amazed you bought that story," he said, shaking his head.

I stopped typing, straightened up and looked a him, awaiting an explanation.

" Would you like to take a guess at the real reason I call you Pepper?"

"Is it because you are constantly peppering me with demands?" I smiled back, recovering my footing temporarily.

"No, although that is a true statement." Tony paused, a little half-smile playing on his lips. "There are so many reasons to call you Pepper. But I named you Pepper because I thought you were unusually hot."

I rolled my eyes at him. Professionalism was beyond Tony's capabilities. "Tony, how many times do I have to remind you that the employee-employer relationship requires certain . . . boundaries in order to succeed."

He turned his eyes back to the stabilizer, performing calculations and teasing me at the same time. "In fact, I should have called you Habanero. Habby for short."

"Tony, you would get so confused. Stark Industries already has a Happy, How could you have a Habby too? Let's stick with the pepper spray story."

" That's it! Perfectly balanced!" he announced, jumping to his feet. "Read the last 7 numbers to me."

And just like that, we were back to inventing better ways to destroy things.

Apparently Tony operated more effectively when amusing himself, I surmised. How could I possibly take him seriously? Flirting was hard-wired into his nature, he didn't even know when he was doing it. No chance that I would ever let a fling with my boss wreck our working relationship.

* * *

"So Ms. Potts, do you know what tomorrow is?"

"Tomorrow is a lot of things, Mr. Stark. What in particular are you thinking of?"

We were coming off a long couple of days together negotiating the purchase of Cerium, a rival energy company. I had walked back down to the lab to retrieve my jacket and a pair of shoes.

Tony eyed me playfully. "Tomorrow is your day off, Ms. Potts. How do you plan to spend it? "

I decided it was my turn to have some fun at the expense of my boss. "I thought I might come back here for most of the day, kind of hang around, maybe get a head start on the contracts for the Cerium acquisition."

Tony halted. His face betrayed candid pleasure at my response. "Really? You plan to spend your day off right here? Feel free to use the swimming pool, or the fitness center. It wouldn't have to be all work, you know. We can have a nice lunch on the terrace. I don't have anything planned until that movie premier at 7:00 pm."

Wow! Could Tony really be that excited to have me around for the day? I mean, I'd spent nearly the whole past month working with him. I almost felt badly that I had teased him.

"Tony, I'm kidding," I said in my most sincere voice. "I am not coming here tomorrow. Actually, I have a date. With that lawyer from Cerium."

His buoyancy evaporated, darkening his whole expression. "Which lawyer?"

"The lead attorney. He invited me to the Getty exhibit this weekend."

"The lead attorney? You mean the ... not that bald guy Kauffman?"

"Yes, the lead attorney. I prefer to describe him as trim and athletic," I added, refusing to let Tony belittle my date. "Tony, it's time someone besides you had a date around here."

" I don't date. Not exactly. I pick up. Or hook up." Tony had reverted to his typical jokes.

"I was being polite," I sighed. "Have you ever taken a woman to a museum?"

"Pepper, how long does it take to walk through the Getty Center?"

"Oh, 2 to 3 hours minimum ."

"Why would I want to talk to the same woman for 2 to 3 hours?"

"You've been talking to me for the last 2to 3 days."

"That's business. It's totally different. Besides, you're intelligent to talk to."

"Oh, why thank you, Mr. Stark."

"Enjoy your date, Ms. Potts. I just have one question."

"Just one, Mr. Stark?"

"Will you wear those heels you're holding?" he gestured to the shoes I had retrieved from his lab. "I don't remember Mr. Kauffman being quite as tall as you."

"Heels are not the best choice for a 2-3 hour walk through a museum. And Tony?" I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Yes, Pepper?"

"You are acting surprisingly immature right now. And a little possessive," I added, in a frustrated display of boldness towards my boss.

Our eyes locked for a long moment. I was unable to read what I saw in his gaze.

"Pepper, you're right," he admitted, suddenly serious. "I am being possessive. Of course you have a life outside of Stark Industries. Go enjoy yourself."

Then he leaned in conspiratorially. "My advice?"

"What?" I asked, a little impatiently.

Tony gave me his most charming smile. "Make his day and wear the heels. You look great in them. The blisters will heal."

I felt Tony Stark's eyes follow me all the way up the stairs and out of sight.

* * *

Over time, we had developed a complicated, almost indefinable relationship. Sometimes we interacted like good friends, sometimes like lovers, and then if we started to get too close we took shelter behind the strictures of our professional relationship. For years we had maintained an equilibrium by fluctuating between these different roles. We never talked about our relationship directly, instead relying on our actions to define it.

* * *

"Jarvis, do you have the current weather conditions and forecast for this evening?"

"As of 6:07 pm, the temperature is 89 degrees, humidity 61%, winds light and variable. Expect temperatures to remain in the 80's throughout the early evening, then dropping to 72 degrees overnight. Chance of rain near 0%."

"Thank you Jarvis. I will tell the catering crew to wait until 7:00 to set up the ice sculptures. With this heat wave, I am afraid they will be melted by the time the guests arrive."

"Even with temperatures falling to the mid-80's, the ice sculptures will melt at an average rate of 19.45% per hour. I recommend they remain in the refrigerated trucks as long as possible."

"Thank you, Jarvis. You are indispensable as my assistant party planner!"

"At your service, Ms. Potts."

Since accepting the job at Stark Industries, I had become principal coordinator of the lavish parties Tony enjoyed hosting at his various residences. But tonight, for the first time, Tony insisted that I stick around and enjoy the festivities. I had declined, claiming truthfully that I did not own clothing appropriate for Tony's crowd.

The next day a personal shopper bearing an array of cocktail dresses, swim wear, jewelry and other accessories arrived at my office.

Her visit revealed an uncharacteristic level of thoughtfulness and consideration from my boss. She informed me that Tony had arranged an expense account with the store so that I could select several fashionable ensembles befitting a member of his personal staff. And he expected no resistance.

Now I stood in my new threads, and I'll admit I felt a little excited and breathless at the prospect of attending one of Tony's signature parties. To be more specific, the female in me was eager to have a chance to feel sexy. As much as I hate to admit it, in retrospect I primarily wanted to look good in front of my boss. Which was inappropriate, unprofessional, and as I would soon learn, a wasted effort.

But at 7:00 pm that evening, the ice sculptures still stood perfectly formed in the Southern California heat, and I harbored a silly, secret excitement that Tony was about to see his long-suffering personal assistant in her hot new party clothes.

I do not know now long Tony had been staring at me when I first spotted him. A pair of brunettes competed for his attention but his eyes were on me. He excused himself and walked straight in my direction.

"Wow!" he greeted me.

"Mr. Stark. You're here!"

"So are you, Ms. Potts. So are you." He looked up and down at me. "As usual, I made the right decision by inviting you."

"As usual." I found myself clutching at the wet coldness of my seltzer glass. I could not remember ever feeling so nervous around Tony before.

One of the servers walked up and handed Tony a tumbler of scotch. He raised the glass in my direction and asked, "Would you like to trade in that ice water for something stronger?"

"I'm working tonight, so no thank you. Quite a lot to keep track of," I added lamely.

"I see you enjoyed the visit from your new stylist." He couldn't seem to pull his gaze away from my ... apparel.

"Stylist? Do you think I need a new style?"

"Honestly?" he feigned a look of concern. "Always room to improve."

I ignored his remark. Verbally, Tony might be teasing me, but his eyes were dishing out unadulterated compliments.

For a few moments, we may as well have been standing all alone in the balmy California evening. I felt a sparkly, suspenseful feeling welling up inside, over which I had no control.

"Maybe that drink is a good idea," I said, snatching a glass of white wine from the tray of a nearby server.

Tony raised an eyebrow as we toasted. I barely had time to swallow my first sip when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Elbert, one of the assistant chefs. "Ms. Potts, could you please come to the service entrance to help sort out a billing issue with the seafood vendor? He's being a little difficult. I need your magic touch at the moment."

"You too?" Tony quipped under his breath to Elbert, who gave Tony a slightly confused look. My response was more of a glare.

"See, I am working tonight," I smiled back at him, setting the drink aside.

Tony stepped closer and let his hand rest on my arm for a moment. "Don't be long," he said in a soft voice, before I reluctantly turned away.

I did not speak to Tony again that night. The situation with the lobster guy took the better part of an hour to resolve. Afterwards I returned to the terrace, frustrated, dripping with sweat, and truly eager for a fresh glass of wine.

It didn't take long to pick Tony out, I merely followed the sounds of feminine laughter. I located him as he helped a woman out of the pool and wrapped her bikini clad body in a large fluffy towel. She swayed unsteadily against him, giggling as he guided her towards the house.

Just before he entered he paused and looked back, scanning the crowd thoroughly. Eventually he caught my eye, but turned away instantly as if he hadn't seen me. Then he continued through the doorway.

I made one more circuit around the terrace, greeting friends and associates numbly. My lips curved into an automatic smile when necessary. As soon I had assured myself that everything was proceeding according to plan, I retrieved my purse from the suite where I had intended to spend the night.

"Jarvis, could I have my car brought around to the front."

"Heading home early, Ms. Potts?"

"Fortunately, yes. We planned everything so well that I am no longer needed tonight."

"As you wish. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

I refused to believe that I detected a note of sympathy in that darn machine's voice. Was Jarvis somehow capable of picking up on human emotions?

Never again! I shouted to myself on the drive home, laying down personal ground rules for the rest of my tenure at Stark Industries. If you want to continue working for Tony Stark, understand your boss for what he is. Do not ever take his mindless flirting seriously. And for heaven's sake, do not take your feelings for him seriously! Find yourself a decent guy who will take your mind off the impossible. Soon!

* * *

All these memories and many more invaded my nights. Now, as I lay awake in the dark wondering if Tony was even alive, I admitted that my feelings, deeply buried, had never completely vanished. Tony Stark, with all of his brilliance and all of his failings, meant everything to me. It was pointless to waste energy denying that now.

"Please find a way to come home, Tony," I whispered into the blackness . "Please come home."


End file.
